


i know what you did last summer

by seventies



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Keith (Voltron) is Bad at Feelings, M/M, Pining Keith (Voltron), Protective Shiro (Voltron), keith is whipped, lifeguard!au, resort!au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-02
Updated: 2018-04-02
Packaged: 2019-04-17 09:54:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14186337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seventies/pseuds/seventies
Summary: Saving angry, mysterious damsels in distress multiple times weren't in the job description of being a lifeguard. It would have been slightly bearable if only everyone would stop asking Lance if he remembered what he did last summer. Whatreallyhappened, anyway? AU





	i know what you did last summer

It's summer, it's hot, and while Hunk is wheezing at the lack of air and the torridity around them, Lance is feeling absolutely _spectacular_ in his resort's standard swimming crew uniform. It's not like he'll be in it for too long. School's ended around two weeks ago and although the two weeks spent lounging around the house, catching up and helping out his beloved family, might have been something which Lance had appreciated, it still held no competition to the months he'd been looking forward to with his summer job. 

"Do we really have to do this every summer," Hunk gasps, fanning his rapidly sweating face with the open collar of his polo.

"Shush your face, Hunk," Lance says to him, and turns to what he was doing, which was stare at nothing in particular with an intense concentration which Hunk only witnessed once when they were playing masked volleyball back at freshman year. Yes, that was a Thing. 

Suddenly, Lance has his back perfectly straight and his pearly whites set into a dashing smile and Hunk can only groan because it's only ever meant one thing. 

"Your senses are creepy!" Hunk cries at him, once again internally amazed at Lance's ability to sense using sheer concentration alone. If only this idiot used it for other more important stuff like school or studying. 

As if on cue, the owner of the resort's daughter, a beautiful and elegant young woman by the name of Allura, walks in the open entrance arch with Coran — their manager; this funny-looking dude who once challenged Lance into a dance-off and was defeated by a landslide — and they stop next to the line of employees they have by the resort entrance, by that big ingenious custom-carved sign that says "Welcome to Altea!" in graceful cursive; more specifically, they stop next to Lance and Hunk. 

"I never thought I'd see you two again after last summer," Allura remarks, eyebrows poised upwards into a graceful curve, like everything else she's made of. "But I can't say I'm not glad for my two favorites to be so loyal." 

"Princess!" Lance gasps, and it's this nickname that made her kick his shin on the pool the first time they met. " _I'm_ your _favorite!?_ " 

Hunk coughs, "excuses, but she explicitly said—"

"Princess," Coran says, cutting in, and it's fine if it's Coran because apparently he's been Allura's butler or whatever since her birth. A fact that Lance is relentlessly bitter about. "Some of our guests have already arrived." 

At this, Allura whirls on them with a blaze in her eyes that doesn't help in making Hunk sweat less. "Listen, I have very important guests coming — every guest _is_ important, but more so are these particular ones, who are the direct heirs of my father's co-partners in—" Blah, blah, blah, Lance thinks, immediately dazing off at the sight of a very pretty, admonishing Allura. 'Oh Lance,' he dubs, reading her lips, 'oh Lance you are so handsome and cool and I love your muscles and you are worth the whole world to me—' 

"Especially _you_ , Lan — are you listening to me!" 

"Yes, Allura, you may touch my muscles." 

Hunk snorts, mumbling, " _what_ muscles" while Coran immediately whips off his uniform vest to flex his. 

"Ugh! Just — I don't want any trouble. More so a repeat of last summer, Lance." 

Lance blinks innocently when Allura finally stalks off to check the other employees, Coran in tow. "What last summer?" 

"Oh, right. You... don't remember." 

"What did I do?" 

"Well... Nothing out of the usual, really..." 

"Did I make out with someone or something?" 

"...um..." 

Lance is grinning now, "was she _hot_?" 

"Welcome!" Allura's convivial voice jostles them out of conversation, and they stand to attention as a swarm of tourists and guests come pacing in, snapping pictures and exchanging babbles of foreign language. Lance thinks he can hear Spanish within some, and his grin turns up more genuinely. "Welcome to Altea, valued guests! I'm sure you will find your stay here to be very—"

Suddenly Allura freezes. And Lance has been watching her (totally not in a creepy way!) for so long that he can only muse that this is the first time he's seeing Allura so shocked or... well, by the looks of it, afraid. He turns to Hunk, only to find him freezing, too, mouth open in a wide gape. Coran has long fainted on the ground. Lance turns his head to see what's made them piss themselves in their pants, only for his eyes to meet a pair of (grey? violet? really dark blue?) orbs, staring straight at him for some unknown reason. 

Lance interprets that for assistance. So when he steps forward, perfect smile trained on his face, greeting with a, "Good morning, sir! What can I help you with?", he doesn't understand why the color drains from the stranger's face and he suddenly glares at Lance so hard that he stops mid-step, before strutting away with, Lance gulps, a  _growl._  

"What was that about?" Lance asks them a while later, but Allura's disappeared and Hunk's been stuffing himself with his stress food and Coran is still unconscious, so Lance shrugs it off and doesn't think much of it until a week later. 

* * *

It's summer, it's hot, and Lance is currently teaching a bunch of cute little fellas how to swim. Altea offers up some pretty sweet deals on summer lessons after all, like golfing or ping-pong or cooking (which Hunk happily volunteered for). Lance, of course, is more than pleased for the chance to mingle, reminiscing how he used to volunteer for the sake of his fantasy of clueless, swimsuit-clad chicks clamoring over to be taught by him — well, he's got more or less of what he's asked for with these little _chicks_ , swatting water on him or staring up at him with wide, googly eyes. 

It's a good thing he's got a big family and knows how to handle kids. 

" _Laaaance!_ " this little boy, age eight, Rolo, Lance thinks fondly, tugs on his swimming trunks, mouth wobbling into a whine, "Nyma doesn't want to go swimming with me!" 

Lance balances Beezer, the youngest of their batch, age 3, on his hips, then shields his eyes using his hand to find the little girl. Said little girl is sitting on the edge of the pool, arms crossed and mouth pulled down. Lance wads over the water towards her, reaching over an arm to occasionally stop a rowdy crowd of kids from being _too_ rowdy, until he's standing, knee-deep into the water, in front of her. 

"What's wrong, Nyma?" Lance asks gently, prodding a bumbling Beezer's hand away when he's tracing the dolphin patterns in Lance's trunks. 

"...nothing." She grumbles, turning her face away from him. 

 _Kids these days are so rebellious,_ Lance thinks, then erases it from his mind because it makes him feel old. "C'mon, Nyms! Rolo's out there waiting for you to get in the pool. Water's _great,_ by the way, courtesy of yours truly." 

When she doesn't respond, Lance frowns and knacks his brain to see if he's done anything to upset her. It's not like they were complete strangers or anything. Nyma and Rolo have been under Lance's wing ever since he started teaching swimming here, which was roughly three years ago. Cheerful girl, although a bit naughty, if the fact that both her and Rolo teamed up to steal his clean underwear once was any proof. 

"You _do_ know how to swim, right?" Lance teases her lightly, "You've got an awesome teacher after all." 

Then Nyma is turning towards him, chubby face set into determination that Lance is curious of what she has to say. "Lance, I—"

"HELP! SOMEONE'S _DROWNING!_ " 

And Lance is off like a jet. 

It's from the adults' zone; a splashing, luxurious sanctuary of bright blue waters and state-of-the-art humongous slides that rival amusement parks. A small crowd of people have gathered, shrieking in alarm. And if only Lance wasn't panicking at the moment, he'd notice a number of unconscious bodies next to the pool with similar red marks on their skins. But he's not. He doesn't even blink before he's diving head-first into the waters, swimming fast onto the flailing body, his hands grabbing the torso into one firm grip and pressing himself close as they float together until they reach the edge. 

The first thing that Lance says when he's out of the waters is, " _Maaaan,_ you're ripped!" 

It's the stranger from one week before, the one at the entrance arch who glared at Lance like he kicked his cat or whatever, and who is now currently glaring at him as they both try to calm their breaths. "Is this how you save people drowning?" 

"You don't look like you were drowning." And it's true, Lance might be a joker/flirt/idiot/more detrimental nouns that steadily decrease his self-esteem, but he's good at what he's doing, at his job, and is as one with the waters as Hunk might be in a kitchen, which is saying a lot. 

So he knows that this stranger wasn't drowning. Drowning took a lot more struggle. If that made any sense. "I can't describe it," Lance says to the stranger, shrugging good-naturedly, "I'm not really that smart." 

At this, the stranger stops fuming and twists his neck so fast that Lance is worried he might bust a vein. He almost inquires worriedly if the guy wanted to get escorted to the clinic if not for the stranger blurting out a, "That's not true!"

Lance blinks. "...um... what?" 

But the stranger is gone, leaving a wet trail for Lance to stare oddly at for a minute or two before he stands up to leave too. 

* * *

It's happening again. 

When Lance dives fast into the pool and rescues the stranger again, he's worried that he might have touched a sensitive subject and that maybe this guy really _was_ drowning, as opposed to what he had offhandedly accused him three days prior. So he says, "I'm sorry sir, I didn't mean to—" But maybe it's the way that Lance says 'sir' or the blue penguins on Lance's swimming trunks that's triggered the guy, because instead of a 'thank you, kind gentleman I will you compliment you endlessly to Allura and give you brownie points' the stranger shouts obscenities at Lance and stalks off angrily, not before giving his signature glare, of course. 

But Lance has a perfect record. He loves this place, he loves this pool, this beach, this resort; he's employee of the month, if only for summer. So if it means that he has to suck it up and track the guy down in the palace-like resort of Altea to apologize then so be it. But he doesn't have to in the first place, because when the next day comes the guy somehow drowns again and Lance comes running into the water without wearing his water gear, diving in with a perfect form and rescuing the stranger. Again. 

"Quit _saving_ me!" the guy gasps, puking water from his mouth.

"Then quit giving me a reason to!" Lance screams back, squeezing the water out from his uniform polo, "why do you always go 8 FT. if you can't even swim anyway?!"

Lance thinks it's just the water in the stranger's lungs, making him flush as red as his boxers. But he doesn't pay attention to that and is instead fretting over his drenched clothes, moaning in despair when he thinks of the laundry. "My abuelita is going to _kill_ me!" 

He's still minding his own business when the stranger casually says, "Just buy her those lilac bath-bombs she likes so much then." 

Lance carefully turns his head to stare at him at the same time the stranger almost bashes his head against the concrete when realizing his mistake. 

"Why do you know that my abuelita loves lilac-bath bombs?" Lance asks, pointing an accusing finger at him, "you're a stalker, aren't you!? Sorry, but I'm not interested in complete strangers!" 

Oops. 

The stranger swirls at him, the water making his hair darker than it really is as the locks fall across his forehead, over the curve of his ears, past the crook of his strong jaw, shadowing the fury and... and _hurt_ in his eyes. 

"I don't know _Lance_ ," he spits out vehemently, and Lance shivering doesn't have anything to do with the temperature anymore. "Why don't _you_ find out for _yourself_." 

Glare. Then storm off. When the stranger leaves, Lance is glad to find that he can breathe again. He briefly wonders why the guy knew his name, but laughs it off, saying to himself that he must have read Lance's name-tag, _duh,_ but when he reaches over his chest to grasp at the platinum thing that's always been pinned to his polo shirt, he finds it missing. 

_...huh._

He decides it's time to investigate. 

* * *

"Oh that guy?" The girls giggle, and Lance almost throttles himself in jealousy before reminding himself what he came here for. Not to flirt — miraculously! "That guy paid us a hefty buck to start screaming and shouting for help when he drowned himself — it happened around two weeks ago? Thursday?" Lance gapes. "Not to mention what he paid my friend, though! He told her to scream help near the kiddie area specifically. To be honest he really didn't need to put in any effort in paying. I'd do what he wanted me to in a heartbeat if you know what I mean." She swoons, but Lance ain't listening. 

"That guy who drowned, right?" Some guy nodded, groaning in pain, "Of course I'll never forget about him! I tried to save him — Thursday, I think — and he kicked my balls, man. Saying that he didn't want any saving and I should mind my own dang business. Then he started to drown again, which made others want to save him too, but he all ninja-chopped-karate'd them and we all woke up a while later in the clinic with our respective folks fifty dollars richer." 

Lance swallows all the information like a sponge, but something still isn't right. 

He's eating lunch with Hunk one day by the restaurant's patio — which is something Allura allowed only them to do ("Because I'm her favorite!" Lance harrumphs, and Hunk rolls his eyes exasperatedly) — when abruptly a buzzing sort of hush overcomes the whole place. As if a celebrity came in or something. Hunk even stops eating his medianoche, which prompts Lance to lift his head only to come face to face with some pretty buffed guy, a bit older than both Hunk and he is, with a curious shock of white hair on top of his head. He looked kind of cool in Lance's opinion, all dressed sharp in his black suit and with attractive rogueish features, and Lance entertains with the idea of dyeing his hair before noticing that the guy hasn't left their table yet. 

"Uh... Hi?" 

Slam. 

"H-H-H-Hole in the table..." Hunk whimpers, crying at the remains of his lunch. 

Lance gawks at the fist that smashed against it, and then at the owner of the said fist who looked like he did not just punch a hole through a thousand-dollar acrewood table which was _supposed to be as solid as a boulder_ effortlessly. 

The guy uses his arms (HUGE, HUGE BEEF) to trap Lance in his chair, muted concentration on his face. Lance almost does a Coran and faints on the spot. "You really don't remember what happened last summer?" 

"Why is everyone asking me that?" Lance almost groans, recalling how Coran, Allura, Pidge — and a smirking Matt — all cornered him individually in the past month, asking the same question. "I _don't!_ I was — I was _wasted_ AF, man! I don't really drink that much alcohol in the first place — my aunt would _throw_ me in a _fire_ — so I don't really—"

"What about this? Do you remember this?" The guy shoves him a thing, which through half-terrified lenses, Lance identifies as a small... platinum, rectan— 

"This is my name-tag!" Lance gasps. "Where did you get this?" 

The man crosses his arms, "I swear if you're playing pretend and you're doing this to break Keith's heart then—"

" _Shiro_!" The guy — the drowning stranger — comes rushing from the grand staircases leading to the patio and — _woah,_ Lance gulps, somehow just realizing how attractive the guy was all the time, in a dangerous sort of way, all sharp edges and dark eyes, dark hair, dark everything. It's different from what Lance normally preferred in the human physique: he wants soft, quiet, docile and gentile and demure, someone he could sweep off their feet and would like to be flushed underneath him. But this is different. And weird. And scary.

Speaking of scary, that look that _Keith_ was wearing now was absolutely terrifying. 

"Alfor is calling for us. Meeting. Now." He says, all crisp and commanding. And suddenly _Shiro's_ this big ol' puppy, dejectedly wagging his tail at the angry tone of his owner. _Keith_ turns to Lance next, holding up a hand. 

"Uh, what." 

"The name-tag," he says, face contorted as if it physically pained him to ask. "It's mine." 

"Last I heard, Lance isn't your name, _Keith._ " 

Keith shocks, and the hope is so bright and painful in his eyes that Lance's stomach aches. "You remembered?" 

"...no. That Shiro-guy mentioned you and I just put two and two together when you came storming in." 

Keith  _snarls_ , running an agitated hand through his wild locks, and a collective swoon is heard throughout the restaurant. 

He turns to leave, his broad shoulders hanging low than before — he looks dejected. Sad. And Lance scrambles up to place the name-tag in his rough hands. 

Keith stills. "What are you—"

"Look, I realized I've done something to you last summer," Lance starts, and Keith is looking at him, so earnest, so needy, that Lance glances away, unable to bear his intensity. "But as long as I don't remember it, you keep it. But the second I do, I get it back. Deal?" 

Keith ponders over this. And when he's taking too long an elderly man screams at him to "Just give the poor boy a chance already!" and they realize that the whole place is watching them with bated breaths, including Hunk who's been nibbling on the leftovers of his hole-punched medianoche like popcorn — and finally Keith gives a stiff jolt of his head. 

The whole restaurant cheers as if Keith's just answered a proposal, and Lance laughs along, goofy, and Keith — blushing madly — leaves. 

* * *

"You know if you would just — just tell me what happened, this wouldn't have been too hard!" 

"Sorry Lance," Hunk says, not sounding very sorry at all. They're by the benches of the kiddie pool three weeks later after the incident, and Lance is now famous as the 'Bold Swimming Crew Employee who Proposed to Mysterious Mafia Boss-looking Guy' — which is crazy in itself, but it increases the sales and serves as an advertisement to Altea, so Coran says to leave it alone. "The guy got me free apple strudels to last the rest of summer just to make me shut up and not tell you." 

"Wow. You're such a great best friend, dude." 

"Thanks man, I try my best!" 

"The only clues I have is," he produces a notepad magically out of his swimming trunks, "that he has like a crazy amount of money, so he's rich I guess; he drowns a lot... so he doesn't know how to swim, I think. And he's got my name-tag, which I'd lost last summer, so yeah something _did_ happen last summer, around the summer-end party wherein I got totes wasted and... _Ugh_ this is going to make my head explode. Brb!" And then he's splashing towards the kiddie pool with the other kids, and Hunk shakes his head, muttering a "so close" without Lance to even hear him. 

Lance spots Nyma again by herself, and he wads over the waters and the hyperactive kids to get to her. "Not feeling it today either, Nyma?" 

Nyma stays quiet. 

"C'mon, girl," Lance persuades her gently, and Hunk watches as Lance plays with the other kids and the Nyma girl in the pool before Pidge arrives, carrying a tray of iced tea. 

"What is that idiot even doing?" Pidge snorts, sitting under the umbrella with Hunk, "isn't he like supposed to be time-pressured right now? That Kogane is leaving, right?" 

"Don't mind him," Hunk waves off, and later Lance comes back, significantly tanner than he's been an hour ago. 

"Sorry guys! Had to accompany Nyma 'cause she didn't want to swim without me. It's kind of weird. Three years ago she and Rolo used to bully me a lot but now even when I already taught her how to swim, she still keeps to herself and doesn't get to the pool until I do. That's so cute. Why can't you be cute like that, Hunk?"

"I'm plenty cute, thank you." 

"Wow," Pidge comments, sipping her iced tea, "can't believe even kids have crushes on you, Lance." 

Lance pauses in drying his hair with a towel, giving her an odd look. "What." 

"It's basic psychology, dude," Pidge rolls her eyes, and the sunlight glints against her rounded glasses. "I don't mean to be sexist, but it's mostly observed in the female specimen. We tend to act vulnerable or irate to catch the attention of our object of interest." 

"Um. In English...?"

Pidge sighs loudly. "It's like how Allura acts cold every time just so she could get your jackets." 

Hunk gasps, as if he's just found very significant information, but Lance is gasping for another different reason. He thinks of Keith, of how he doesn't really look like he's drowning, but drowning still; always, always when Lance was around, when Lance is within the vicinity. He thinks of the girls Keith paid or the guys he's fought because he didn't want to be rescued by them, but... but _him._ Keith wants to be rescued by Lance. 

He spills his tea to the floor and runs back towards the hotel. 

"Have you seen Keith?" Lance asks literally every person he's come into contact, breaths coming into pants and head buzzing, but all he receives is quizzical and concerned looks. Lance is desperate, so he uses this idea as his last resort. He stands in the middle of the huge, baronial guest lounge, before using his voice on the top of his lungs and asking, " _Have you guys seen my husband!?_ " 

All the tourists in the room point to the left. 

"Thank you," Lance says, before taking off in that direction. The crowd erupts into cheer and the old man from the restaurant raises his cane in the air, exclaiming about the power of love. 

" _Keith!_ " Lance exclaims. In the distance, the sun is dawning over the horizon, spreading hues of oranges and pinks and yellows and violets over everything and anything, and Lance sees him then: floating in the still waters with a perfect form, and Lance's face breaks into a grin because he's been right all along. 

"So you _do_ know how to swim, you butt!" Lance accuses him, crouching low to meet Keith by the edge of the pool, and Keith swims idly to him, eyes taking on a warm feeling. 

"What are you even doing here, you moron." 

"Why were you always pretending to drown?" Lance asks him, cocking his head. 

Keith watches him for a minute, his long strands wet and plastered across the chiseled curves of his face, Adam's apple bobbing up and down, and Lance has to bite his lips and pretend not to notice when Keith zeroes in on the movement, eyes hungry. 

"Because." Keith says. "It's basic psychology, it—"

"Blah, blah, blah," Lance dubs him, out loud, "'Yes Lance, all I wanted was for you to notice me because I'm incapable of acting out on my emotions normally as any other human being would! I am so hopeless without you! You are so handsome and cool and I love your muscles and—'"

"You are worth the whole world to me," Keith finishes quietly, and Lance is too surprised that he doesn't even fight the blush that colors his whole body, up until his neck and ears and nape, and Keith greedily drinks it all with his eyes. But he's far from done. "You are Lance Charles McClain. You hate your middle name because it sounds lame but at the same time you're proud of it because it shows you're from a big, diversified family and nothing makes you any prouder than your family. Your dream is to become a pilot. You're good at swimming and ice-skating. You're studying to get in Garrison U. Your favorite color is blue and you own a cat named after it. You have best friends named Hunk and Pidge and to you they're the smartest people in the whole universe. You're," Keith takes a deep breath, but he never, not once, left Lance's eyes. 

"Insecure. You have low self-esteem. This stems from your inability to see your worth, your talents. You've been so used to being compared to the rest of your family members and playing as the fool in your trio of friends that you're blind to your own abilities. Always being underestimated, always being made fun of; the idiot, the flirt, the joker, but that's not all to you, Lance. And that's not true, not even a bit. Because — _fuck_ , Lance," Keith curses, eyes so painfully tender that Lance doesn't move when he reaches a hand out of the waters to gently cup his face, fingers rough from being in the pool for too long and yet, "Lance you... you're _so_..." 

Lance gulps, eyes watery and teary. The sun has set lower, but even in the dimness of the dawn Lance can see Keith as clearly as he can see his reflection in the blue waters. He's so overwhelmed with emotion that he can't see it — can't see the platinum name-tag on the cusp of his foot until he's leaning over the edge to follow Keith's hands that he ends up missing his lips entirely due to slipping on the said name-tag and plunging deep onto the swimming pool. 

And out of all the times to have a leg cramp, his body just chose to have one at this exact moment. 

 _Must have been all that running,_ Lance thinks, but that's stupid, because he can't have coherent thoughts, not when he's drowning and the air in his lungs is quickly being filled with that nasty chlorine-brimmed pool water he's temporarily hating at the moment. His muscles are burning, heart tight and hammering wildly in his chest, but suddenly there are arms, strong and hard, pulling him up in one hasty tug before he's being pressed against a solid chest. 

" _Lance!_ " Keith is breathing hard, eyes alight with worry and panic, "Lance — _are you okay?_ Oh gosh I wasn't trained for CPR and just recently learned it and _I don't know what to do—_ " 

But Lance is looking at him oddly. 

"...L-Lance?" 

"I kind of remember something." 

Keith perks up at that. "Yeah?" 

"I remember... fireworks. And lights. There was a DJ, a party by the pool, and it was night." 

"Yeah, yeah," Keith encourages, still hoisting him up by the waist as they mindlessly float around the waters, "summer-end party. What else?" 

"Hunk dressed as The Rock." 

"He pulled it off quite well, yes." 

"Shiro. Shiro was... Shiro was making out with Allura—"

"Pidge and Matt were—?"

"—spiking the drinks with rum?" 

"It was vodka. Worked pretty well, actually, since you—"

"—got wasted. I got _wasted_! And I was... with a dance-off. With Coran. And I won and," Lance looks at Keith as if he was a strange, wondrous thing, "and I caught you staring at me. So I... told you to come closer — oh my gosh — but then I didn't see where I was going — andslippedontheedgeofthepool _OHMYGOSH_ —"

Lance buries his head on the crook of Keith's broad shoulders, and Keith rumbles out a deep laugh. Lance likes that sound. "That was the funniest thing I ever saw I kid you not—"

"I was drowning... but you saved me." He mumbles quietly against Keith's damp skin. "You didn't know CPR. You were panicking like crazy and I thought you were pretty so I — I pretended I wasn't fine and you bought me to the clinic and we just... _talked_. About everything." 

"Wow," Keith breathes, grinning finally, "who knew all you had to do was to drown yourself to trigger your memories into coming back." 

"I don't understand. Why didn't Allura and Hunk and Coran say anything to me?" 

"Well... I might have been nothing short of your average person at the party, but I've came this summer here as a representative of my dad's company, as a partnership to your resort. They must have thought I judged your behavior from last year and that it'd reflect badly on the place," Keith tells him mildly, swaying with him in the waters even when the moon and stars finally peeked out. "There's another reason too, though." 

"Huh... There is?" 

"I'll forgive you for forgetting this bit since you were already passing out at that time," Keith smiles, resting his nose on Lance's eyebrow. "I told you everything about me, and that I was a really busy man. Despite that I'll come back for you. To court you seriously. You gave me your name-tag as the setting point. While I gave you... Well, it's more like something I _didn't_ give you." 

"Huh," Lance whispers, shuddering slightly when Keith's hands brush softly against his backside. "Let's trade them now?" 

"Sure thing," Keith whispers back, then leans in and finally gives Lance what he didn't back then. 

CPR. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> leave a comment and bookmark!!!! and kudos pls ;/////; im so sorry if im asking for too much pls forgive me


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